


Night Before

by aeternamente



Series: Time and Space [9]
Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeternamente/pseuds/aeternamente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the night before Ursula’s picnic, and it’s raining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Before

It’s the night before Ursula’s picnic, and it’s raining.

* * *

He showed up at your house the day after the gathering for Hero, saying he was an ass and you deserved better, but would you be friends with him again? He seemed to deflate a little on the word “friends,” and you knew he wanted more. So did you. But friends was safe. Friends was a good place to start.

The two of you were over at each other’s houses a lot after that. Just talking. There’s a lot to talk about. Of course, there was what happened with Hero and with John, but also things like what kind of people you want to be, how sometimes you think you understand yourself, but life always brings out weird shit you didn’t even know was in you. You talked about your friends, about graduation and what came after…

Sometimes he looked at you like he wanted to kiss you. You would look down and nervously change the subject. It wasn’t time. It just wasn’t time.

Yet.

When you played  _Sigh Not So_  for him, he immediately wanted to record it. You were hesitant because it was partly about him, and not in a good way, but he seemed to get this. Recording it kind of felt like his way of penitence, and there was something cathartic about participating in that.

* * *

It’s the night before Ursula’s picnic, and it’s raining.

A drop of water rolls down your neck and under your collar, but you don’t move.

* * *

"John knew exactly what he was about, making the whole thing about cheating," he said one day. He was siting on the other end of your couch, staring at his hands, which were folded in his lap.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. Something about this felt important.

"I grew up the only child of parents who loved each other, and it was that simple." He swallowed. "Then my dad came to me one day and told me he’d had an affair with another woman when he was on a business trip soon after I was born, and I was so angry, and I asked him, I said, ‘Why are you telling this to me?’ and he said, ‘It’s because I have another son, and he’s coming to live with us.’ And that’s the first I ever heard about John.

"And we had family meetings and counseling and all that, just trying to work through everything, and the one rule was always don’t take it out on John. Whatever you’re feeling, however angry you are, don’t take it out on John, it’s not his fault.

"And I tried, but it was all words, you know? I knew I shouldn’t be angry with John, and really I was more angry at the situation, but when it came out, it always ended up directed at John. So he knew what he was about. He knew how I would react."

He blinked. A tear dropped down his cheek.

"I just—I don’t want to be angry anymore."

You crawled across the couch and hugged him.

* * *

It’s the night before Ursula’s picnic, and it’s raining.

Your jacket’s pretty well soaked through now.

A light is on in Pedro’s room.

* * *

_It’s not time. It’s just not time._  You’ve kept saying this to yourself, and it makes you wonder, how do you know when it  _is_ time? What exactly are you waiting for?

That kiss a few weeks ago… it wasn’t time then. That kiss threw you. Everything that was right was so jumbled up in everything that was wrong and you couldn’t separate it out.

But now you’re starting to see something emerging that’s right. You’re seeing Pedro wrestling with himself and trying to come out the other side a better person. You see someone who is deeply flawed, deeply human, and beautiful.

You love him more than ever.

And that was the realization that drove you out into the rainy night to see him. The only thing is that the final step is always the hardest. You keep wanting to take that step, but you end up just standing here getting more and more thoroughly soaked in the rain.

The door opens, and there’s Pedro coming down the walkway toward you.

"Balthazar? What are you doing?"

You try to say something, but all you can do is just watch as his gray hoodie is gradually darkened as the rain dampens it. The front part of the hood looks like something you could grab onto to pull him in.

His expression turns from confused to concerned. “Balthazar, is something wrong? Did something happen?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No, that’s not—I just—” His hair is getting plastered to his face, drooping down in front of his eyes. You want to reach out and brush it aside. “I need to—I want—” He’s staring at you. You’re no good with words in the moment. If you had enough time, you could write a song, but a song is never enough.

"Fuck it."

You stride forward, grab him by the hood, and kiss him. And suddenly you realize how cold and numb you’ve grown standing out here in the rain, because now everything is warm. He brings his arms up around you. One of his hands drifts up behind your head. There’s water streaming down both of your faces, and it’s impossible to tell whose hair it’s dripping from, or if one or both of you is crying.

Now you’re resting your foreheads together. His thumb trails down your cheek. You’re staring straight into his eyes and he’s staring right back.

"I didn’t want to rush things," he says, "you know, after—"

"I know."

"This matters too much to me."

"I know. Me too."

You stay standing like that—you can’t tell how long. You feel like the rain doesn’t even matter anymore, but you can’t stay out here forever.

"Come on, let’s get into some dry clothes," he says.

You nod, but before he can move toward the door, you tug down on his hood, and he obligingly kisses you again. He’s smiling a little. So are you.

* * *

On the way back up from the laundry room, you pass through the kitchen, where there are two steaming mugs of cocoa sitting on the counter beside a note:

_I know how you young people are with your grand romantic gestures, but please try not to catch cold._

_Love you,  
Mum_


End file.
